There was no way Mr. Luther would ever let Camilla come to harm.
Reassured, Tiffany curled back into her seat.
As her tension eased, the pain—both inside and out—came rushing back in full force.
She sucked in a sharp breath, her already reddened eyes welling up with fresh tears. Damn, it really hurt.
Noticing her discomfort, Calvin frowned slightly and pressed harder on the accelerator.
"Those men mentioned you twisted a bath towel into a rope and climbed down from the third floor?" he asked, breaking the silence.
The question successfully diverted Tiffany's attention.
"Yep," she sniffled, her voice hoarse.
"Pretty impressive, huh?"
She'd picked up the trick from watching *Mission: Impossible*, but what looked effortless on screen turned out to be a nightmare in reality.
"Impressive?"
Calvin arched an eyebrow, his expression torn between exasperation and lingering dread.
"Do you have any idea how high the third floor is?
